Thick Blood
by gimmickpuppets
Summary: Past horrors of a forbidden encounter may be haunting for Chris and Thomas, but being in the moment feels too good to be sinful.


Chris wraps Thomas's bleeding knuckles without uttering a word, minding the bruised wrist of his brother while he gently covers the injury. He reaches up after a moment to touch Thomas's cheek, thumb brushing away the tears on his dirty scar which earns him a shameful wince and a low whine. Thomas - though while walking tall in the duel arena - seems childish (correction: he is a child) while sitting on the edge of his bed hunched over this way. Beaten, bleeding, and bruised. To a point, Chris would have it no other way. It seems that the only times he catches glimpses of Thomas's humanity is when he heals him this way; antiseptic pads and band-aids speak volumes more than any words that could pass between them.  
Tonight is different, however. Tonight is the first time Thomas says anything.

"Thank you."

Chris closes the lid of the first aid and flicks the clasps down to lock it. With a shrug he turns his face away and offers nothing more than a low mumble of "it's no trouble." Thomas grips his jacket with the fabric pressed firmly between his thumb and index finger as if his body has become a vice desperately clutching to Chris. In confusion Chris looks up at his brother's face and barely has time to register what he sees before he's catching him in a hold, arms wrapping tight around his body to brace the agonized cry that rips from his throat. He's afraid - shaken and for a moment Chris debates ripping himself away from the sudden embrace until Thomas speaks again, quieter this time and half-muffled by his jacket.  
"I miss when you still loved me."

The words drive deep into Chris's heart and turns like a knife. He winces internally as the memories of their once-then love return to him. Once… no, it never left. He's loved Thomas for a long time and nothing has changed except for Tron's strict order than he not show his younger brother any sorts of (in his words) 'un-biblical affection'. It had only once. One night and it was all it took to shatter their family into pieces; to feel the sting of complete shame and humiliation when Tron - Byron, then - had found them tangled in the sheets in such a taboo scenario. Despite being young, the ache in Chris's chest to know what it all meant…  
Watching Thomas be ripped away from them like that felt as if he'd lost a piece of his heart. He had, really - when he thought about it in full, he'd lost a big part of himself.

_Shameful. Disgusting. Incestuous. Sinful._  
Chris closes his eyes against the words that echo inside his head and ricochet around with hard bites at every turn. One hand threads through Thomas's hair and the other tightens around his middle. He still smells like the same shampoo he did then. Chris vividly recalls the way he tossed his head from side to side, back arching and his rips making bumps on his skin that formed shadows over the fine lines of his body. Lithe and beautiful, Thomas had never been anything short of stunning. Even with his lips swollen and body dusted in a thin coat of sweat there was something undeniably perfect about him him in Chris's eyes.  
_This isn't what brothers do. And yet I can't stop._

Every shiver under his touch. Each gentle kiss between the shifting of their hips and skin pressed to skin - every movement speaking for the waves of pleasure that they couldn't put a name to. That had been bliss, once. The small guest room with the floral sheets they'd never seen again after that night. Bliss._ Love._

_Sinful! **Sinful!**_  
Could something that felt so pure be unholy? Chris wasn't sure anymore.

"I could never stop loving you."

"Don't lie to me. Not anymore. I can't take more of this from you."

Thomas means to pull away but Chris holds him in place. If Thomas makes to move again, however, he'll release him. He has no intention of keeping Thomas hostage in an embrace that imprisons him. Thomas's damp cheek rests against his own and he gives into the touch (Chris knows he always will). Chris peppers his neck and shoulder with small kisses while rubbing his hand up and down Thomas's back.

"I wronged you. I know I did. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It's the first true apology that Chris lets pass between his lips. It's only in the silence that follows that Chris notes just how dark it is. It's a near crawl, the way Thomas moves into his lap to encircle his body around Chris, arms loosely draping over his shoulders and forehead pressed to his own. Their lips come together - it burns and bites and Chris draws on it more and more until Thomas is all he can taste and feel on his skin.

Melting into his touch their hands find each others and lace their fingers in a fitted weave. Chris doesn't know where he ends and Thomas begins. Lips and lips, hands in hands, Chris takes care when he puts his hands on Thomas's bandaged back, lifting his hips and rocking their bodies to a rhythm only known to them - lost in the music of their hearts in their ears and the pants and moans that go nearly unheard in the open room.  
When Thomas's body collapses against his own a shiver passes between them. It's almost agonizing how it feels, laying with their clothes scattered and Thomas held tight in his lap. If Thomas pulls away now he's lose him, and the thought is paralyzing.  
_Just a bit longer. If this is sinful then let me taste every drop of wine._

"Chris -"

"Stay, Thomas. Stay a bit longer."

He doesn't need to ask twice. Thomas lays still in his embrace and allows Chris press his palms over the bruises he'd treated not too long ago. Chris knows it hurts and yet Thomas makes no sound. He says nothing beyond soft spoken whispers of his name or 'I love you's and 'I missed this'.  
For now, it's only them.  
Nothing is solved - not yet. All it is now… all it's ever been on the surface in the smoldering embers of their desire and the blood that binds them.

_Every drop of wine, Thomas._  
_Every **drop**._


End file.
